


He must be gay

by lifeofalostelf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Experiment, First Kiss, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofalostelf/pseuds/lifeofalostelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is gay, he just doesn't know it yet. Sherlock's job is to make him realize it. Sherlock sets himself a new experiment: What will it take for John to admit he's gay. Of course Sherlock doesn't factor his own reactions into the equation. Disclaimer: Do not own..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

Day 1

“I’m not gay!” “I’m not his date!” Why is he so fixated on what people think? Does it matter what people think of him? If he knows he is not in fact gay, then he should not care if people think he is. People don’t matter. Unless… Oh… Of course! He is gay! Or at least Bi-sexual. He has the random thought about men and that disturbs him. Yes, that fits his reactions perfectly. All he needs is to acknowledge this, if he does believe ‘It’s all fine.’ This requires an experiment! I will test his reactions when in close proximity to men. I will see what it takes for him to address his sexuality. I will begin with me as the subject. I will see if he reacts to being close to me. I will need a control for my experiment. I will keep physical contact to a minimum for today in order to collect necessary data for the control. Yes. This will be fun!

Ah. John is home. I can hear his heavy footsteps hindered from carrying groceries. He fumbles with the door before entering. I remain laying on the sofa with my hands clasped under my chin. I refrain from looking at him. I can tell he is looking at me, most likely annoyed by my lack of interest in his struggling. He can manage. He sighs rather dramatically for one who complains so much about my supposed theatrics. Ah. He is going to reprimand me.

“Oh. Don’t mind me. I’m sure I can manage.” He shuffles toward the kitchen loudly, trying to provoke a response from me. He should be grateful that he can move that well at all. I defeated his limp! Isn’t that enough of a contribution to procuring the groceries?

“Hmm.” I hum in reply, my usual way of avoiding conversation. I continue listening to John moving around in the kitchen, subconsciously deducing every item he bought including milk, tea, and at least two jars of jam. I never will understand his obsession with jam. John finishes up and walks back into the living room and then slumps down into his chair with a medical journal.

“You’ve been rather quiet today. Have anything new on?” He asks me. Yes. I’ll be experimenting on you John. Problem?

“Hmm? Oh. No.” I keep my expression neutral, keeping him from questioning my lie.

“I can tell you haven’t been shooting up the wall since I’ve been gone. Should I be worried?” Yes.

"I was under the impression that shooting up the wall worried you. However I would be more than happy to borrow your gun now if it would keep you at ease.” I reply.

“Ha. You know what? No. I’m quite fine without it actually. Just curious.”

“Mmmm.” I respond. We sit in this fashion for one hour, twenty-five minutes, and thirty two seconds before John gets up to go to bed. As soon as I hear the springs of his bed shift under his weight, I grab my laptop from the desk. John’s is closer but it wouldn’t do to let him find the data. It would compromise the experiment. He won’t be able to find it on my computer though. He never has been able to deduce my password and it will be in a locked folder under false names. Not even Mycroft will be able to find it. I quickly type up my hypothesis, observations, and the outline for my experiment before signing out and putting it back. I spend the rest of the night thinking about the experiment and the possible outcomes.


	2. Day 2

Day 2

I’m back on the couch when John gets up in the morning to go to the clinic. Dull. Now I will begin my experiment. He shuffles into the kitchen to make his tea and toast with jam. I slip quietly into the kitchen and come up right behind him as he digs in the fridge for his jam and the milk. He turns around right into me, causing him to drop the jam, though I catch it easily. It would not do to let him lose his jam. I wouldn’t want to face his wrath so early in the morning.

“Sherlock!” He gasps. “Could you warn me next time?!” His eyes are wide and his breathing has quickened, from shock most likely.

“Ears.” I reply quietly. He stares at my face for some time before replying.

“What?” He asks. I can feel his breath mixing with mine as he looks up at me. His face is so close to mine. His eyes glance quickly to my lips before reaching back up to my eyes. Interesting.

“I was coming to get my ears from the fridge. Experiment I’m doing.” I reply, still standing right in front of him. I’m not even touching him, but it seems to have an effect.

“Ears. Erm. Right. Of course.” How eloquently put John. I step back just enough to let him pass though he has to brush me in the process. He goes to make his toast before realizing I still have his jam. He comes back to get it brushing my fingers as he does so. He practically yanks his hand back with the jar, though I myself felt some sort of tingle so I must have just shocked him.

-

By the time he comes home from the clinic I have both of our chairs filled with ears and some pig organs. I thought about just stacking books in them, but he could easily move them. He is less likely to touch the ears or organs.

“Sherlock! What?! What is that? Are those ears? And.. What? In my chair! Sherlock that is my chair!” He is getting rather red in the face.

“Yes. Well, experiment John.”

“Experi…! Sherlock! We’ve talked about this. You keep bloody heads in the fridge and eyes in the microwave. And have put dead cats in the bathtub. I put up with all of your bloody antics! But my chair Sherlock!!”

“Not just your chair John. Mine is occupied as well. Need to test the differences between the two.”

“I don’t bloody care if it was a matter of life or death! That’s my chair! You will clean it up.”

“Of course.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I see him visibly deflate. “When I’m done.” Ah yes. Tension immediately flows back into him.

“No Sherlock now!”

“Busy.” I reply. He huffs and stomps into the kitchen to make tea. “Sugar.” I call out to him.

“Make your own damn tea!” He calls back. Sigh. He does get a bit dramatic.

Before he comes back with his tea I sprawl out on the sofa. When his tea is made he comes back into the room, glances longingly at his chair then comes over to the sofa before he notices I’ve taken up the whole sofa.

“No. Sherlock. I’m not in the mood. You better move now.” I slip my feet off the couch long enough for him to sit then swiftly place them back on his lap. “Sherlock! What are you doing? No. Absolutely not. Get your bloody feet off of my lap!” Interesting. His face is slightly red, though that could be from yelling so much. But it’s only a slight flush. He attempts to throw my legs off of him but I keep them firmly in place. He sighs, reaches for the remote on the coffee table and turns on the Television.

               After a while I begin to feel the warmth of his body seeping into my feet and calves. He must be warmer than usual. That’s interesting data. After another dull show I realize he has placed his hand on my ankle and his thumb is rubbing gently over my Medial Malleolus. When did that happen? How did I not notice. It’s actually comforting, but of course that’s supposedly the effect of physical contact in general. This is odd; I have never actually felt the comfort of physical contact, only the irritation. Maybe it’s just my ankle. I will have to analyze this reaction later, for now I must focus on John. Why is he stroking my ankle? He may not realize he is doing it. I watch him for a while as he watches the television. He wears a soft smile as he strokes my ankle. I cannot tell if the smile is the result of watching television or rubbing my ankle. 


	3. Day 3

Day 3

In the morning, I type up my results from last night. The results are coming along. John has definitely been reacting to the new proximity to me. It’s rather telling. However, my experiment seems possibly flawed, as my own reactions have been odd to say the least. I should use someone else in order to continue this experiment. I log out of my computer and pace the sitting room, while thinking of different possible subjects. As I pace, my phone goes off, perfect timing really. It had better be a case. I look at the text. Yes. It’s Lestrade with a new case. Brilliant. Even better, I will use Lestrade as the new subject. This should lead to some interesting results, I’m sure.

I climb the stairs and slam open John’s bedroom door. I start to yell at him, before coming up with a better plan, one to continue my experiment. The experiment must come first at all costs. I walk over and place my hand on his shoulder. This is highly dangerous, as he is an ex-soldier with PTSD, but I’m always intrigued by his reactions, so why not? Before I move my hand, I feel the heat come up from him. He really does seem warmer than the average person. Perhaps I should start an experiment on that as well. I then look at John’s face. He seems younger when asleep. Of course he does, the tension is gone. I find it much more difficult to wake him now. He just seems so peaceful. What? When did I start caring about how peaceful someone looks? I shake my head slightly. I move my hand, shaking his shoulder almost gently.

When he barely reacts I shake him harder. “John! Don’t be tedious. Wake up.”

He jumps and sits up abruptly, ready to attack. He has my arm in his grip and is staring at me. I watch as his breathing slows, and then speeds up again when he becomes more focused and aware of our close proximity. His eyes widen slightly, and pupils grow. I myself become aware that our faces are much closer than usual. I could easily kiss him, not that I would. I must analyze why that idea even came into my mind.

“Sher..Sherlock. Why are you in my room?” He asks. After the initial break, his voice becomes rather steady. I am impressed at his ability to remain calm, no matter the situation.

“Case.” I say. He’s not always quick on the uptake however. Why else would I be in his room? Though that takes more thought, what did he think I was doing in his room? Also, he doesn’t seem upset that I’m here. Usually he’s more than angry. Perhaps the proximity is affecting his thought process. Interesting. I stare into his eyes, realizing it’s suddenly much harder to move away from him. But I must leave in my usual dramatic way or he may catch on to something. I force myself to stand and walk out of the room, to dress in my usual attire.

I can hear John grumbling behind me as I leave, and then the movement from his room of him getting dressed. He really would follow me anywhere. Of course that’s because he’s an adrenaline junkie, no other reason I’m sure.

I put on my coat and scarf and wait for john by the door. He stumbles down the stairs sleepily. “Do I have time for breakfast?” He asks. I throw his coat in his face. “Right.” He says and I leave the flat. The pitter-patter of feet behind me amuses me, as well as causing my stomach to flutter lightly. Great. One other thing I have to analyze. Well, I do love puzzles.

I wave down a cab and slide into the seat, just far enough that John can sit, but not far enough to give him moving space.

“Sherlock? Can you move over?” He asks, face flushed.

“Of course I can John.” I say. I don’t move. I will not condone the improper use of grammar.

He sighs dramatically before responding. “Move over!” He practically shouts. Touchy. I move over just enough that he might be comfortable, but keep my thigh pressed against his thigh, and my shoulder pressed against his shoulder as well. The cab ride continues like this, with him staring out the window, purposefully ignoring me. I smirk slightly before looking out the other window. As soon as the cab stops I rush out the door, leaving John to pay the cabbie as usual.

I make my way to the crime scene where Sally is keeping watch. One glance at her knees tells me her endeavors with Anderson have not ended. Sad really, I once thought she was more intelligent than that. I guess I’m allowed a couple mistakes, or rather miscalculations, in my lifetime.

“Hello, Freak” She says.

“Always the charmer, Sally” I reply as I walk past her. I can tell from the sound of feet, that not only John is following me, but Anderson as well. As soon as I enter the room, I allow John to enter, and then slam the door shut before Anderson can follow. I could use Anderson to continue my experiment, but even the idea makes me shudder. I definitely couldn’t subject John to that. I glance over at the body and then up at Lestrade. He makes for a much better subject.

“Sherlock!” He calls out. He should be glad I rid him of the nuisance that is Anderson, but apparently he likes to pretend he’s professional. I, for one, think he can give up the game, as he can’t even solve his own crimes.

I ignore Lestade’s exclamation, as I look back to the body. Now this is insulting. You would think Lestrade has learned something from being around me all this time. I glance up to see John standing relatively close to Lestrade. Some sort of pain and slight anger shoots through my chest at the sight of the two so close. Perhaps Lestrade isn’t the best subject. I glance over to John’s eyes and find that his pupils are normal, and then to the rest of his face to see he is not flushed either. Interesting. Perhaps, Lestrade isn’t his… ‘type’, as people say.

“Well. Did you find something?” Lestrade asks, irritated that I stopped looking and have now been regarding the two of them for approximately thirty seconds.  Though, he’s possibly also irate because I can solve this case in less than a minute when he’s been working at it for over ten hours judging by his appearance.

“Obviously” I say. Lestrade rolls his eyes, then meets John’s eyes. They share a moment, during which I find the sudden urge to leave the room immediately, preferably by shoving my way right between the two of them. Perhaps I’m ill. These are definitely reactions I am not used to having. If I was judging my reaction right now on someone else I would assume jealousy. But this is me. I do not get jealous. I do not feel tedious human emotions. Lestrade looks at john with an expression that says ‘How do you put up with him?’ While John looks back with slight amusement and perhaps awe, as if to say ‘He’s brilliant, I have no other choice do I?’ This appeases me a bit. At least John isn’t as annoyed. Not that I particularly care when he is. Do I? Yes. Why do I?

“Well. Care to share, then?” Lestrade huffs, looking back at me.

I sigh before replying. “It was the husband. Obviously.” I watch as John walks over to the victim and observes the body for a minute.

“The ring.” He states. I feel the corners of my lips tug up slightly. John is not ordinary. He, at least learns from his experiences with me. “She cheated on him. He was upset, and killed her.” I feel a pull of pride at my chest.

“Very good John, though you missed almost everything of importance.” Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes at me. “She was cheating. On her wife, however. ”

Lestrade nods his head a bit before frowning. “Wife, you said it was the husband?”

“Oh very good Lestrade. It’s nice to know you actually pay attention to some things.” His frown turns into a glare. I smirk at him. “It was the lover’s husband.”

Lestrade raises an eyebrow in question. “How are we supposed to know who the lover is, let alone that he.. or she.. had a spouse of some sort.” And to think lestrade is probably the Yard’s brightest.

I bend over and grab the wallet sticking out of her purse. It was slightly open so I could see the picture of her wife, with the edge of another picture sticking out from behind it. I hand it over to Lestrade. “You should have enough to arrest him if you just observe,” I pull the picture of a young woman out from behind the picture of the victim’s wife. “And you should find him by finding her.” I flip my coat behind me and leave, satisfied with the irritated look on Lestrade’s face and the look of awe on John’s. My satisfaction is instantly diminished by Anderson’s face when I open the door.

“Make up some more lies, freak?” He sneers.

“They wouldn’t seem like lies if your brain was at all able to understand any depths of understanding or observation.” I notice John and Lestrade in my peripheral vision. They’re rather close to each other, discussing something. I should be content that my experiment is going as planned, unfortunately I’m just feeling anger. I need to leave. The presence of Anderson is bad enough, but now I have to deal with odd emotions toward an old army doctor. This experiment is getting out of hand, and I thought it was only the beginning.

“ I..! ”Anderson begins shouting before pausing with a look on his face that tells me he is trying desperately to understand and getting nowhere. “I.. WHAT?” He asks finally. “That didn’t even make sense.” Ah.. Now he is trying to cover his own idiocy by attacking my own sound logic. Pathetic, really.

I leave him standing there with that painful look on his face, which I think happens to be his thinking face. “John!” I call out as I walk quickly out of the building. It really is a satisfying sound, the sound of John hurrying behind me to catch up.

“That was brilliant! Though I think Greg is still confused.” He pants as he begins walking beside me.

“Greg? Who is Greg?” I ask without looking at him.

“Greg… Sherlock! We’ve been over this! Seriously?! Lestrade is Greg.” I look at him now with curiosity.

“Is he?” I ask.

“Sher.. YES!” He huffs, then sighs. It almost makes me laugh. He is quite adorable when irritated or upset. Adorable? Must add this to my self-analysis. This experiment is beginning to be more on me than on John. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I am definitely under the impression that John is gay. He has reacted to me, in very non-platonic ways. However, my own reactions have been unacceptable.

I hail another taxi and climb in all the way leaving space between me and John. He looks at me in confusion. Perhaps he has begun expecting the close proximity. I stare out the window. This is getting slightly out of hand. I have made too many miscalculations based on my own reactions toward John. I have never before had these issues when dealing with anyone. This is beyond frustrating. I glance over surreptitiously, and see John watching me. His face is slightly flushed, and he seems confused.

I look over him more obviously. “John, you’re staring.”

“Yes. I’m confused, and trying to work something out.” He replies, nonchalantly.

“Confusion is the state of mind most frequently adopted by the general populace.” I say.

John huffs in irritation, but I can see behind his façade. He is actually amused, which I find relieving. “Yes, I’m sure. By everyone except you.”

“Naturally.” I smirk.

The cab pulls up to 221 Baker Street, and I climb out of the cab and walk into the sitting room and splay myself across the sofa. John’s footsteps sound behind me and then pause in the sitting room before heading to the kitchen to make tea. He comes back to the sitting room while he waits for the kettle to boil.

“You’re not going to ask me why I’m confused?” He asks.

“If I asked why you were confused every time, I’d hardly have any quiet.”

John rolls his eyes. “You always want to know everything. And are quite nosey about most things. So I assumed you would be about this as well.”

I turn towards him slightly, still sprawled on the sofa. “I have tried to teach you about assumptions, John. But perhaps my words go over your head.”

He opens his mouth to speak, just as the kettle goes off. He abruptly closes his mouth and fetches his tea. I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling. He enters the room one more, places a cup of tea on the coffee table for me, presumably, and then stands in front of me. “Well?” He asks.

“Are we continuing our last dull conversation, or are you searching for something else?” I ask, looking up at him.

He rolls his eyes again. “Aren’t you going to move?”

“I cleared your chair.”

“Yes, but I still imagine pig guts, when looking at it.”

“So dramatic John. The chair is clean.”

“Just move.”

I sigh, and move my feet.

“No, Sherlock. If I have to deal with having some part of you on me it will be your head.” He says quickly before blushing. I look up at him and raise both eyebrows in mild surprise. He really is the only person to surprise me this often.

I sit up enough for him to sit down. He places his teacup next to mine before sitting. I then lay back down with my head in his lap. This is interesting. It’s definitely more comfortable, than last night. He turns on the television, and eventually his hand finds its way to my hair. At first I’m startled by the touch, but as his fingers begin threading and weaving, I begin to find it rather pleasant. It’s definitely an odd sensation. One I’ve never felt before and one I wouldn’t mind feeling again. The thoughts in my mind eventually stop buzzing, fading, as I begin to succumb to slumber. 


	4. Day 4

Day 4

I wake up the next morning on the sofa alone, but with a blanket draped over me. At first, I think falling asleep in John’s lap was a dream, but the evidence tells me it wasn’t a dream. After I fell asleep, John had gotten up and then draped the blanket over me. What I can’t deduce is why. It was either being uncomfortable sleeping in the upright position or being uncomfortable sleeping in such close proximity to me. Something in me cringes when thinking it might be our proximity. I need to start analyzing the results of this experiment. It seems to be getting to me. I get up and begin pacing.

It started with the idea of this experiment. Why was I so fascinated with John’s sexuality? Everything has a motive, whether it’s conscious or subconscious. Now what was my motive? Curiosity most likely. I need to know why John cares so much what people think, more than that I wanted to know what it would take to make him admit his sexuality. That all makes sense, I experiment, it’s what I do. I need information. But usually I only keep important information. Why is this important? Why do I care what John’s sexuality is or that he accepts his sexuality? Why does it matter? None of this matters! But I need to know. I need him to know! But why?!

In order to come to a conclusion I need to analyze the rest of the data. First, there was the shocking feeling of our hands brushing when I handed him his jam on the second day of this experiment. Next, the warm and comfortable feeling of John rubbing my Medial Malleolus. Then, not wanting to disturb John in his sleep. Later, there was the anger at Lestrade for his proximity to John. Was it anger? No. Jealousy. That word is a better fit. Wait, jealousy? That can’t be right. No, it is. I was jealous. This is an interesting feeling. Feeling? I scrunch up my face slightly in disgust. Feelings? Is that what I’m dealing with? Feelings for John? Experimenting on John’s sexuality has awakened my own, but more than that, it’s allowed me to understand the depth of my friendship with John. Is it more than friendship? Is that what this whole experiment was really about? I have subconsciously devised this experiment in order to test my chances of going beyond friendship with John.

Suddenly I hear the door to the building open and footsteps coming up the stairs. Along with the steady footsteps, is the sound of an umbrella against the floor. Mycroft. He always has the most hateful timing. I can also hear John waking up upstairs and moving around. I throw myself on the sofa just as Mycroft enters the sitting room.

“What do you want?” I force out, just barely glancing over at him. He has paused and is taking everything in. His expression goes from exasperated to smug. I raise my eyebrow slightly waiting for him to announce whatever conclusions he has come to.

“Well that took you quite some time. I had expected you to figure it out much earlier.” He walks over and sits in john’s seat. Figure what out? The only thing I have figured out is my interest in… He knows. He saw it. I read people’s occupations and habits. He reads their expressions and emotions. Somehow he read it in my expression and attitude. I will have to make sure that never happens again.

“I see your diet’s failing once again. I wonder when you’ll stop trying.” I throw out as I turn away from him and into the sofa.

“I wonder when you’ll tell John.” I hear the self-assurance behind the exasperation.

“Tell me what?” John steps into the sitting room. Mycroft’s presence always annoys me to distraction, another thing I need to keep from happening again.

“Your girlfriend is cheating on you.” I reply before Mycroft can get a word in.

“Yes. I found out weeks ago and broke it off. That’s not really what you’re talking about, is it?” He asks. I can tell he’s staring at the back of my head intently, hoping I’ll turn around.

“Well, I’ll leave this here for you to look at Sherlock.” Mycroft sets a file down on the coffee table and heads toward the door. I hear him pause and turn slightly back toward me. “Do be quick about it. These things are time sensitive.” I can tell by inflection that he’s not talking about the file he just set down. Going by sound alone, I can tell he nods to john as he says “John, do handle him with care, I don’t want to have to do any legwork.” He then leaves, unfortunately not soon enough.

“Sherlock? Are you going to explain what that was about?” John asks, still standing there.

I turn around to face him, controlling my expression better than I did with Mycroft. “Case, obviously.” I say. He looks at me with a question written across his face.

“That was more than a case Sherlock. What does he want you to tell me?”

“I already told you, John. Do keep up.”

“No. No, you didn’t. You rattled off something random and I know it. He wants you to tell me something that would apparently compromise you, I’m guessing from the unspoken threat he just gave me. Tell me Sherlock.” Oh John. You are learning. I feel a spark of pride alongside the fear. I have to tell him, or come up with something better that he would believe. With anyone else the latter would be the best idea. But with John, I don’t want to lie to him, not about this.

“Now is not a good time, John.” I reply. I need more time to figure this out; I need to know where I stand with him, what I want from him, and what he would be willing to give.

He sighs and rubs his face with his hands. “You’re never going to tell me are you? And with my luck it will be something to do with me, something important.”

“It has nothing to do with luck.” I sit up and place my hands beneath my chin. I need to think. “Tea?” I ask.

“Oh, no. I’m not making you any bloody tea until we talk about this. I deserve to know, especially since your brother threatened me. It must be something bloody Important.” His voice is beginning to rise slowly as he continues speaking. This is not going according to my plan at all.

“John.” I say, standing up and moving around the coffee table. We are now only a couple of feet apart. It feels so far and yet I know mathematically it’s not far at all. “It doesn’t make sense!” I stare directly in his eyes.

“Perhaps if you confided in me, instead of sulking and throwing a tantrum, I could help you!” He yells back and takes a step toward me.

“You can’t help. You’re just making things worse.”

He pauses for a moment, before stepping back. I can see the pain in his eyes mixing with anger. I see the buildup of anger slowly washing over the pain as they fight for dominance. Anger wins easily. “That’s what I do, isn’t it?! I make things worse?! I’m not the one keeping bloody heads with our food! I’m not the one without any bloody emotions! You’re a bloody machine! I’m done with this! All of this!” My heart races as he continues yelling. I watch, feeling petrified, frozen in my spot as he turns around, grabs his coat and leaves the flat. I hear the door slam below and know he’s gone, probably to a pub and then to Sarah’s or Greg’s sofa.

I should feel proud. I should be happy. I got my way. I won. He is no more aware of my feelings than he was before. Why do I not have those emotions? Why do I feel like I should have told him and held onto him, never let him go? This is definitely not my area. I slump down on the sofa, preparing myself for a long day of waiting. His anger was much too defined. He won’t be back tonight. And that causes me more pain than I care to acknowledge. 


	5. Interlude between day 4 and 5

Between days 4 and 5

I’m still awake when I hear commotion below. John is back. It’s approximately 2 in the morning and John is back. He came back. He didn’t stay out all night. I was wrong. Why does this make me happier than if I was right? I should want to be right, but once again John falls outside the norm. I can hear the unsteady steps making their way to the sitting room. He’s drunk. So he did go to a pub, at least at some point. I doubt he was there this whole time. I have the sudden urge to make him tea or perhaps coffee would be better for sobering him up. If I make it, I may make him aware of my feelings, as I never make anything for anyone else. Then again he would probably think it was drugged, since the incident with the sugar and the H.O.U.N.D. But then, he sounds quite drunk, so he may not care one way or the other. I get up to make coffee, just as he enters the room.

“You’re a right piece of work you know that?” John starts. His words just slightly slurred together. Then he begins with the giggles.

“Should I make you coffee?” I ask.

“Coffee? You make me coffee?” He falls into giggles again for a minute, before suddenly stopping. “Why would you do anything like that? You don’t do things for people. You don’t care like I care.”

“I do care John.” I say. I do not want to have this conversation with John, while he’s drunk.

“Like hell you do!” He shouts suddenly. He stumbles forward a bit, caused by alcohol and anger. “You don’t care! You don’t care about anybody! You don’t care how anybody feels or what you do to anybody! You don’t care how this affects me!”

 “This?” I ask.

“This!” He yells and reaches for me. He grabs my shirt with both hands. “This! Whatever you have been doing to me recently! Being so bloody close all the time! Messing with my mind!” I can feel him trembling as he clutches my shirt.

“John.” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“No! I don’t want to hear it! I know you deduced it. I know you.. you… know.” His yelling ceases and his grip loosens. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and slurred. I would say he was about to cry if I didn’t know him better. “I know you’re just messing with my mind. You’re toying with me. You can’t use someone who loves you like that.” My heart stops for a moment. He said loves. He loves me. Is that what this is, love?

“Loves me?” I ask, my voice caught.

John gives a dry chuckle before answering. “Don’t you bloody play dumb! You’re no good at it! Yes loves you. I bloody love you! And you don’t care enough to let me be!” The anger is back, but wavering. I want to hold him and tell him it’s not true, but I know he won’t accept it right now. And he definitely won’t accept it in the morning. “Just.. just leave it Sherlock.” He slurs out. He then turns and heads towards his bedroom, unsteady on his feet. I go to the kitchen to get paracetamol and a glass of water. I bring it to John’s room. John is sprawled out on his bed, still in his clothes from the day and on top of his duvet when I get there. I set the water and paracetamol on his bedside table. I then take off John’s shoes and maneuver him so he I can pull his duvet over him. I watch him for a minute before leaving his room and settling back on the couch.

Love. He loves me. Do I love him? Yes. Yes I do. That is the source of all of these unwanted and interfering emotions. But now I have to figure out what to do about it.


	6. Day 5

Day 5

I’m plucking at my violin, when John gets up in the afternoon. I can hear him stumbling around his room. I get up and begin making tea. I don’t know how to begin a conversation with John. For once, it feels like I have something to lose, and it makes me uncomfortable and vulnerable.

“Did you bring me water and paracetamol?” He asks as he enters the kitchen. I look over at him, trying to judge how to act. Does he want to discuss what happened last night, or does he want to leave it and delete it? I decide to act normal, well normal for me.

“Obviously. Who else would have brought it?” I ask.

“I.. no one. I just... Thanks.” He mumbles out, and then looks around the kitchen to where I have two cups of tea now steeping. “Are you making tea?”

I manage to roll my eyes and reply. “Obviously John. Perhaps you shouldn’t drink if it makes you act stupid.”

I notice he doesn’t seem to take this to heart as he usually would. “Right. Of course. About last night…” He begins, still not looking at me.

“No.” I say before he can finish.

“What? Sherlock I haven’t even finished what I was saying.” He says, exasperated now.

“No point. You were going to attempt to tell me either that you didn’t mean what you said or that it won’t affect our friendship. Then you were going to ask me to delete it. I won’t. So, no.”

“You won’t? Why wouldn’t you delete it? You delete anything you deem unimportant.” He says. I observe him to see whether he is fishing for a compliment. He’s not.

“Yes, I don’t see how that holds any relevance here.” I respond. I should tell him, confide in him my feelings as he would want. But I can’t just yet. I turn away from him to finish making the tea.

“How it holds relevance? Of course it’s relevant. It’s unimportant so you should delete it. I don’t understand why this is so complicated. Are you trying to complicate things? Are you trying to make me completely miserable?” His voice fights between frustrated and defeated.

“Ah. That’s where you’re wrong John. It’s very important.” I reply, turning around and handing him a cup of tea. His eyes look at it and back at me. He has definitely not forgiven me for trying to drug him. He takes it and warily takes a sip.

“Why is it important Sherlock? Why can’t you just let me have this one thing?” He asks. He is still avoiding my eyes.

I take a sip of my own tea before replying. “That’s not what you want John.”

He stares at the wall. His features go from slightly angry to defeated once more. “No. But I can’t really have what I want. So it will have to do. Please, just let it go.” My heart clinches as I watch his head drop slightly before he holds himself up once more and finally looks at me. And to think, I once thought I didn’t have a heart.

“I can’t,” I almost whisper. I set my cup down, while still keeping eye contact with John.

“Why?” He asks.

I begin to feel slightly exasperated myself now. What am I supposed to say? What does he expect? This is not my area. I don’t like feeling this way. I’m not sure I like knowing I have a heart.

“I don’t know!” I shout and begin pacing, before stopping in front of him. “I never want to forget any of the words you said to me last night. I need to know that you feel that way.”

He looks vulnerable as he looks at me. “Why? Is it an experiment? Or a need to stroke your ego?”

“No. John.” I reply. Why can’t I just say it? Just say the three words he already spoken to me. Perhaps it would be easier if I heard them again. “But I do need you to tell me again.”

He looks startled at that. “What? Why? No. I don’t need to be humiliated further, thanks!”

“No, John. That’s not…” I sigh, and take a step toward him. “Please.” I hate using social niceties. But I’d do anything to hear those words again.

John closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a deep breath. I allow my eyes to rake over his face before settling back on his eyes just as they open. “I don’t know what you’re playing at Sherlock.”

“John.”

“Fine!” He rubs his face with one hand and visibly steels himself.  “I… Sherlock I.. I can’t do this sober.” I just watch him, saying nothing. He just needs to find courage. He’s much braver than I in these situations. He closes his eyes again and whispers “I love you.”

That is exactly what I needed to hear. I feel the fluttering of my heart and spinning of my stomach, as people often describe.  I take another step forward and reach out to touch his face, cupping his cheek in my hand. He flinches slightly, with his eyes still closed, before leaning into the touch. “That’s.. that’s Good.” I say.

He opens his eyes and looks at me questioningly “Good?” He asks.

“Very good.” I respond. “After all, unrequited love would affect my work.”

He stares at me with wide eyes. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“I love you, John.” I’m surprised at how well that actually came out. I was expecting I’d choke on the words at some point.

“You.. I.. you…what?” He says. I can see the hope fighting through the defeat in his eyes.

I chuckle slightly. “Very coherent, John.” I say, before leaning in and connecting our lips softly. It’s a very short kiss, too short. John pulls back. I rest my forehead against his and just enjoy the feel of our breath mingling and the echo of the kiss tingling my lips.

“Are you sure? I think I’d have to kill you if this was an experiment or if you change your mind.”

I smirk. “That’d be tremendously ambitious of you. Fortunately it seems you won’t have to try, as I’m always sure of everything I do.”

He smiles before leaning back in, whispering “Arrogant git,” and recapturing my lips.

I may have to work on the number of mistakes I make, as I am beginning to feel that perhaps sentiment is not a chemical defect, and caring is not always disadvantageous. Here, with John, I am perhaps the strongest I’ve ever been.


	7. Conclusion

Conclusion

Early the next morning, or perhaps late that night, I slip out of bed to grab my laptop before sliding back in bed next to John. As soon as I settle, John moves toward the warmth and throws an arm around my waist. I open my file with my experiment and examine the previous data before adding the data from the last few days. I then type up my conclusion. John is bisexual, marvelously so. I have also come to the conclusion that he fought so hard against the insinuations, not because he was afraid of his sexuality, but because he was afraid of his feelings for me. Well, now that that has been dealt with, I expect John will now be much more comfortable being with me in public. And hopefully care much less about what people think. I finish typing, close my laptop and lean over to set it on the floor. John fidgets as I move. I then slip back down to where I am lying next to him.

“What’s wrong?” He slurs out, barely awake.

“Nothing. Sleep.” I reply as I curl up against him and he wraps an arm around me once more. I cherish the feeling of being so close to him before succumbing to fatigue and falling asleep.


End file.
